Goalie Interference
by CarpeDm87
Summary: Nico's life was far from exciting. Struggling to save up for tuition, the only highlights of his life were playing in the local league and enjoying a beer after. When he gets the opportunity of a lifetime, he finds himself having to navigate a new world, new friends, and new challenges. The National Hockey League has a lot to offer him if he has the nerve to reach out and take it.
1. The Show

_**NHL Rulebook.**_ _  
_ _ **Section 2 - Teams.  
**_ _ **Rule 5 - Team.  
**_ _ **5.3 Goalkeeper.**_

 _In regular League and Playoff games, if both listed goalkeepers are incapacitated, that team shall be entitled to dress and play any available goalkeeper who is eligible._

"Good practice, short stuff," Chuck said as he dumped his gloves in his locker room stall next to Nico's. "We're gonna own those losers next week."

Nico groaned and rolled his eyes, flicking Chuck's ear as soon as Chuck took his helmet off. "Thanks, you overgrown goat."

"Ow!" Chuck winced and glared at his teammates for laughing at him. He rubbed at his ear and started peeling himself out of his gear. "You gotta stop hating on the beard, man. The ladies love it."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Whatever." Nico sat down in his stall and started the arduous task of stripping himself of several layers of protective gear. Getting dressed and undressed was a sport in itself, especially for goaltenders, wearing twice as much padding as the other players.

By the time he'd finished and had grabbed his shower bag, most teammates were already pulling on their regular clothing. Nico wished them a good week and headed into the showers.

When he got out, Chuck was still in the locker room, impatiently tapping his foot. "Come on, man. Hurry it up. I want to grab a beer before the game starts."

"Christ," Nico said, rolling his eyes as he pulled his boxers on. "I don't know why you go see that garbage fire of a team every time they play at home."

Chuck shrugged, dragging his enormous hockey bag to the center of the locker room. "They aren't _that_ bad."

"They're literally at the bottom of the league," Nico said. "For the second year in a row."

"I'm not letting a filthy Pegasi fan talk about my team like that."

Nico snorted. "I don't get why you hate the Pegasi so much. They're leading the division by ten points. Clearly they're doing something right."

"Just get dressed, will you? I'll give you a ride home after we grab a beer."

After dumping their bags in Chuck's beat up truck, the two of them headed to the sports bar across the street. It smelled of stale beer and peanuts, but to Nico, it had turned into a home away from home. He'd spent countless nights here, celebrating his beer league team's victories with his teammates. He still had trouble remembering the night they'd won the trophy last season. For this season, they'd gotten the owner to sponsor their team a little, in the form of a free beer after a victory.

A few of their teammates were already drinking when Nico and Chuck joined them. Without prompting, the bartender set two bottles of beer down in front of them. Nico accepted his with a smile and put it to his lips immediately.

"So what's your plan for tonight?"

Nico shrugged, running his finger through the condensation on the bottle. "Watch a movie, or maybe go straight to bed."

"Sounds lame."

Nico looked up and smirked. "I have work tomorrow. Besides, it's better than watching the Furies lose yet again."

His teammates laughed as Nico ducked away from the punch aimed at his shoulder. He was saved by Chuck's phone, blaring his obnoxious ringtone.

"Hey, dad," Chuck said as he picked up the phone, turning away from Nico. "Whoah, slow down, slow down. Just let me get outside." He took a big sip of his beer and hopped off his barstool.

Nico busied himself with peeling the label off his beer bottle as he talked game strategy with Mike and Jimmy. Most of the label lay in tiny pieces on the bar when Chuck pulled the bottle away from his hands and slammed money onto the bar.

"We have to go. Now."

Nico grabbed for his bottle, took one last sip before sliding it over to Mike, and followed Chuck outside, struggling to put his jacket back on. "What's going on? Did something happen?"

"I'll explain on the way," Chuck said, opening his door and hopping into the driver's seat, waiting for Nico to sit down and close his door before starting down the street.

"Where are we going?" Nico asked, fastening his seatbelt.

"That was my dad on the phone, and there's a bit of an emergency situation going on," Chuck said, pulling onto the highway. "He needs a goalie."

"What? The fuck would your dad need a goalie for?" Nico asked, confused. "I have plans, dude."

"Please." Chuck snorted. "Sitting at home and jerking off isn't plans," he said, turning his head and flashing Nico a smile. "Besides, you'll like this, I'm sure."

"Again, why the fuck would your dad need a goalie?"

"My dad's a coach."

"Yes? And?"

"I thought you were smarter than that, man. Coach Hedge, ring any bells?"

Nico was sure he'd heard the name before, but he couldn't figure out where. He gritted his teeth when he saw Chuck smiling smugly to himself, before the penny dropped. "No. Fuck, no. Take me home. I'm not doing it."

"Oh, come on," Chuck said. "They're in deep shit. Harald was injured in warmups and the game starts in thirty minutes."

"So have him call those snotty Penn State assholes," Nico all but growled.

Chuck rubbed at his face, trying to weave his way through gameday traffic headed towards the Argo Stadium. "They're out of state. Seward is the usual emergency goalie but he's dealing with a sprained ankle. I'm telling you, my dad wouldn't have called me unless he was really in trouble." He sighed deeply. "Look, I already told him you'd do it. This is the NHL, man. The big league! You should be jumping at the chance."

"Yeah," Nico deadpanned, staring out the window. "I'm jumping all right. Just like how I jumped for joy when I was laughed out of the room at Penn State tryouts. I'm so happy a whole fucking NHL team will get the chance to laugh at me."

Chuck looked at Nico, as serious as Nico had ever seen him. "Listen to me. If I didn't think you could do it, I wouldn't have told my dad I knew a guy. Screw those assholes at Penn State. They don't know what they're missing." He turned his eyes back to the road, then steered the car off the highway.

Further ahead loomed the silhouette of the Argo Stadium, and against his wishes, Nico felt butterflies in his stomach, circling the rock that had made itself a home there when Chuck had told him that he'd volunteered him.

"Besides," Chuck started, grinning. "You'll only have to sit on the bench. You get to hang out with the players and you'll have the best seat in the house. And did I tell you you'll get five hundred bucks for it?"

They found a parking spot, and Chuck called his dad while Nico hauled his bag and stick out of the truck. "You fucking owe me," he grumbled. "Big time."

A middle-aged guy in a suit came outside to greet them. After a short handshake, the guy, who introduced himself as Dave Anderson, Assistant Coach, whisked Nico away and into the building.

The next few minutes were a blur. Nico had to answer questions fired at him from all directions - _What's your jersey size? How do you spell your name? What's your experience? Are you healthy? What number do you want to play with?_ \- and had to sign a bunch of waivers before he was quickly ushered into the locker room, where his gear was already waiting for him.

It was a little surreal, being in an actual NHL locker room. Everything about it screamed professional sports - from the warm lighting to the glossy finish of the stalls, from the enormous Furies logo on the floor to the polished nameplates.

He was left alone and left to dress, and he allowed himself a minute to look around and take everything in. Being a Pegasi fan meant that he was technically in enemy territory (the Pegasi and the Furies had a longstanding rivalry), but this wasn't the time to be petty.

He got into his gear as fast as he could, the excitement slowly building up inside of him and the adrenalin pushing the last of his tiredness out of his system. He'd told Chuck he absolutely didn't want to do it, but he knew it was a once in a lifetime opportunity, and Chuck had been right: What else was he going to do tonight?

He knew he'd just be there to keep the bench warm, and that chances of him playing were microscopic at best, but he didn't care if his one game of NHL experience would boil down to sitting on the bench for one and a half periods; it would still be an awesome memory to have - even if it was with the worst team in the league, two years running.

Anderson interrupted him in the locker room to give him his driver's license back. When Nico had put it back into his wallet, Anderson held out a pen.

"Ready to sign your NHL contract?"

Nico couldn't help but smile through the sting. Anderson spoke the words he'd always wanted to hear, though it stung, knowing it would be for one night only. Still, when he saw the contract, his eyes lit up.

 _MEMORANDUM OF AGREEMENT BETWEEN:_

 _Nicolas di Angelo, hereinafter called the "Player"_

 _-AND-_

 _Philadelphia Furies, hereinafter called the "Club"_

 _In consideration of the opportunity to play in the NHL, receipt of $500, and the Player being permitted to retain his game-worn jersey, the Player agrees to present himself, upon request of the Club to perform services as a player on Thursday, March 21 at the Argo Stadium. This agreement shall be valid for a term of one (1) day, and a Club shall only be permitted to enter into such an agreement in accordance with Section 16.14 of the CBA. Club certifies that it is signing player to this Professional Try-Out Agreement in order to address a last minute injury, illness or League suspension that results in the Club not being able to dress two goaltenders for an NHL Game, and that effectuating a Recall is otherwise impossible._

It wasn't the thing he'd always dreamed of, but he was never going to get closer than this. He was going to make the most of it. He took the pen with an unsteady hand and signed his name underneath the contract.

After emerging from the locker room, a bright orange jersey was handed to him by a guy who introduced himself as Hudson, equipment manager. His number - 35, since 30 was already taken by Harald - was sloppily stitched on the back of the jersey, and above it, DI ANGELO, in bold black letters on a white strip. A surge of pride swept over him. Whatever happened, he'd have tangible proof of his stint as the Furies' backup goaltender.

Hudson led him down the tunnel, asking him about his stick preferences and explained that the coaches and players were already on the bench. Warmups had started a few minutes ago.

As they walked, the constant background noise he'd been hearing grew louder, and Nico was able to make out what it was. The music was blaring, the crowd was cheering, and he could hear the scratching of skates on ice, the unmistakable sound of sticks sending pucks flying, the _pings_ against the crossbars and posts of the goal when the pucks hit them, and the whoops and hollers of the players on the ice.

It was a unique experience. At his own hockey games, they were lucky if thirty people showed up to watch, but right now, there were thousands of people in the stands. When he finally emerged from the tunnel, his heart skipped a beat.

He wasn't a stranger to hockey games, having gone to watch quite a few of them, but things were completely different on ice level. The cheers bouncing off the ice, the glare of the stadium lights, everything was a little magical when compared against his usual spot in the nosebleeds. Now he knew where all those players were coming from when they said the crowd rallied them, that the cheers fueled them. His heart was beating a mile a minute and he was practically frozen to the floor, looking around the stadium with bright eyes, until Hudson gently nudged him forward.

He heard a vague echo of his name being called over the stadium speakers, and Anderson came off the bench to greet him. He guided Nico to the backup goalie's spot, separated from the rest of the bench by the boarding door. Hudson came up to him and compared a backup stick to the one Nico was carrying and, after giving Nico a hat and a bottle of gatorade, left him alone.

Nico felt like he had to be dreaming, the whole thing was so surreal. In front of him, the players were taking shots on Ahlstrom, the backup goaltender who replaced Harald in net. The pace was fast, and none of the players seemed to notice him, but he was content to just watch - Chuck had been right: he doubted there was a better seat in the house to watch the game from.

The shrill sound of a whistle being blown cut through the noise, and immediately all players started filing back to their benches. He opened the boarding door beside him and tried not to look too nervous when the Furies headed to the bench - a few of them acknowledging him with a nod of their heads. A few of players stayed on the ice - Nico guessed they were the ones about to start the game.

"Hey, Anderson, did you ask your kid to play backup?"

Laughter came from the bench, and Nico's head shot up, his gaze locking on to the person who'd spoken: a guy by the name of Sherman Yang, if the lack of teeth in his mouth was anything to go by. Yang grinned at him, and all Nico could do was roll his eyes and put his cap on to hide the glare he cast Yang's way.

Whatever. He wasn't going to let a punk like Yang ruin his night. He sat back and tried to catch what the coach was telling the team.

"I don't care what you do or how you do it, but for the love of God, score some goddamned goals tonight. We got them on the fence last time we played them, and I know we can drag a win out of this." Coach Hedge popped a piece of gum in his mouth and addressed the five skaters currently on the ice. "Yew, Lee, Gunderson, I want action here. Your backchecking has been a fucking mess all week. Do better! Grace, Zhang, get out of the zone more. I want you two more involved in the play, do you hear me?"

All five players nodded. Nico's eyes were drawn to the two hulking guys standing furthest away from him - Jason Grace and Frank Zhang, the Furies' top defense pairing. From what Nico had seen of the Furies this season, they were the only ones saving the team the embarrassment of breaking the record of team losses in a single season.

Grace had been drafted two seasons ago, selected number one at the 2013 draft. He'd made the team immediately, and after playing with veteran player Zhang all season, had been awarded captaincy a few months ago, when this season had started.

As the skaters headed to center ice, Grace glanced at Nico, his cold blue eyes standing off in stark contrast to the mostly orange uniform he was wearing.

Nico stood up with the rest of the team when the National Anthem was sang, and as the final notes sounded, the arena exploded into cheers again, sending shivers up Nico's spine.

The referee dropped the puck between Cecil Markowitz and the Gryphons captain, and the game was underway, fast-paced and brutal right from the get-go. For a solid five minutes, both teams were on even ground, laying checks and taking shots, but ultimately getting nowhere, the game remaining even for long minutes.

The referee blew his whistle, stopping the play when Markowitz was hooked to the ground. One of the Gryphons was sent to the penalty box for two minutes, and the Furies' first powerplay unit was sent onto the ice, Coach Hedge barking instructions at them as they went.

This was their big chance. For two minutes, they'd have a one-man advantage over the Gryphons - known for their discipline, and at the bottom of the league when it came to penalty minutes - and if there was ever an opportunity to score against one of the top teams in the league, it was now.

Play started again, and despite the team firing shot after shot at the Gryphon goal, they failed to score, narrowly missing the goal by a hair, or simply having the Gryphons' goalie snagging the shot out of the air with clean precision.

Grace came close with a slapshot, but it hit the wrong side of the goal post and ricocheted off into the corner. Three Furies and three Gryphons tried to pry the puck loose from the boarding, digging after it with their sticks.

Nico didn't see what made the puck come loose, or who had been responsible for it, but when it came loose, Markowitz didn't waste a single second, passing it to Grace around the defenseman covering him. Grace was completely open, and took advantage with a precise wrist shot, sending the puck into the goal.

Nico jumped up, throwing his hands into the air as the goal horn sounded. He grinned when the players on the ice piled onto Grace. The happiness was palpable, the crowd cheering so loud Nico's rang and drowning out the already loud goal song. It was an intoxicating feeling, warmth blooming in Nico's chest.

The players skated by the bench, bumping gloves with their teammates. Nico stayed where he was - he wasn't a part of the team, and as an outsider, he'd only feel weird sharing in what was essentially a team activity. A part of him wanted to join in the celebrations, as if donning the Furies' orange had made him a real part of the team, but he was just the guy filling in for an actual teammate.

Grace apparently wasn't having any of it, coming to a stop in front of Nico, raising his eyebrow and holding out a gloved hand, only stepping onto the bench after Nico had given him a fistbump.

After the goal had been called over the stadium speakers, the play continued, the team seeming extra motivated by being in the lead, even if it was only by one goal. There were still two periods left, and eight minutes in this one, but for now it was more than enough to build on.

The Gryphons got more aggressive in their play, throwing checks that made Nico wince in sympathetic pain and thank his lucky stars that he'd decided to play goalie as a kid, but despite all of that, Markowitz scored again, taking the Furies to a 2-0 lead.

The celebration was short-lived, however, when Gryphon star player, Damien White, broke away. With no defense to back Ahlstrom up, White got all the time in the world to line up a clear shot to the back of the net.

Nico hissed out a curse. Ahlstrom should have seen White coming from a mile away; the way White held his stick was a clear indicator that he'd be shooting top shelf, and Ahlstrom had been covering low, unable to lift his glove in time to stop the shot.

Next to him, the coach snarled at the two defensemen responsible for letting White slip. Both Castor Bach and Danny Pollux looked apologetic, their heads hanging as the coach tore into them.

"Now get out there and be better!" Coach Hedge yelled, and both d-men hopped over the boarding and back into the play.

Despite Grace and Zhang's effort to control them, and an awesome job by the forwards on the backcheck, the Gryphons got more dangerous as the period winded down. After being stuck defending for a solid two minutes, the Furies were tired, but there was no window for a line change just yet. They needed to get the puck out into neutral ice to buy themselves some breathing room, and get fresh players on the ice.

Instead, the puck landed on White's stick, who deftly skated around Gardner covering him and skated closer to the goal. It was a goal waiting to happen, had it not been for Sherman Yang coming in from the side, levelling White with a vicious hit, sending him flying onto Ahlstrom.

Nico wished he hadn't heard Ahlstrom's cry as White landed on him - a sound of pure agony torn from his throat. _This isn't good_ , Nico thought, and the gasps from the crowd and the furious reaction from the bench backed it up.

White slowly crawled off Ahlstrom as one of the Gryphons grabbed Yang by the jersey, throwing his gloves to the ice as a challenge to a fight. Yang gladly reciprocated, and the two started throwing punches at each other. The fight was quickly broken up by the refs, but hardly anyone paid attention; everyone was staring at Ahlstrom, laid on the ice, clutching his right shoulder in pain.

A blond guy in an orange and black poloshirt dashed past Nico, gingerly stepping onto the ice before shuffling over to the goal. He kneeled by Ahlstrom, sharing a few quick words with him, then turned around and shook his head at the bench, prompting the coach to bark out a loud "Fuck!"

Nico watched as Ahlstrom sat, clutching his right arm to his body. Before Ahlstrom even got up, Coach Hedge stepped into his field of vision, flanked by Anderson.

"Kid, you're up."

* * *

Hey guys, this is my new fic. Hope you enjoy it. Please, leave a review!


	2. Rookie

**Small warning up front, and since I can't post links here I'll quickly explain. This chapter is heavy on the actual sport of hockey. If you want, head on over to Youtube and search for "Intro to hockey". You'll find a video from the IIHF, which is a quick, 2-minute primer on everything you need to know.**

 **If you still can't understand it, or think it's too difficult, leave me a review and I'll take it into account when writing further chapters.**

 _ **NHL Rulebook.**_ _  
_ _ **Section 2 - Teams.**_

 _ **Rule 5 - Team.**_

 _ **5.3 Goalkeeper.**_

 _If, however, the third goalkeeper is dressed and on the bench when the second goalkeeper becomes incapacitated, the third goalkeeper shall enter the game immediately and no warm-up is permitted._

Nico was dazed. Once the game had started, he'd pretty much forgotten why he'd been there in the first place. It was a rare occurrence for emergency goaltenders to get called into a game, but for them to actually play was practically unheard of. He hadn't thought he'd actually have to play - not for a single second.

Coach Hedge sent a questioning look over Nico's shoulder, then nodded. "Will's buying us a little time, but we have to hurry. You've played tonight?"

"Practice, yeah."

"Good, because you're not getting a warm-up." Hedge pointed at the ice. "I'll get my best guys out there defending you, so you should be good. Keep your eyes on the puck, that's all that matters."

Nico was ushered onto the ice before he could respond. The blond guy beside Ahlstrom - the team's medic, apparently - smiled at him as he headed over to the goal, and slowly helped Ahlstrom up with Grace's help.

"Welcome to the big league, kid," Grace told him as they passed, slowly skating Ahlstrom over to the bench.

Nico crossed the ice. It was colder than it had been on the bench, the air clearer and more crisp the further he got away from the bench. The sweat on the back of his neck cooled and sent a shiver up his spine.

He looked around the arena, rolling his shoulders and working his neck in an attempt to warm up his muscles. The place was enormous, but from where he stood near the goal, it seemed even bigger. The rink spread out in front of him, reflecting the lights and the players in the stands.

Aside from the small practice rinks he played his games in, Nico had been to plenty of other rinks in his life. The ones the NHL teams played in were huge, able to seat thousands. Rinks like that were majestic, even from the seats high up in the stands. However, he'd never had the chance to appreciate the sheer majesty at ice level in a rink this large. Rows and rows of people, stacked floor to ceiling, a sea of orange in support of the Furies.

He couldn't screw up. Thousands of people had their eyes on him, needing him to succeed. A team was only as strong as its weakest link, and right now, Nico was it. _Keep it together_ , he told himself. He couldn't let it get to him. Not here, not now. Not when he was about the play the most important game of his life.

Nico settled in the goal and scratched up the goaltender's crease before him with his skates. He'd need the friction if he was going to have control over his movements, and control was exactly what he needed.

The goal was the castle where he was king, the crease his kingdom, the place where he ruled with a quick blocker and an even quicker glove. Here, like every other goal he'd played in, he would be able to shut out any and all thought, focusing on the game and the game alone.

He whacked his stick against the left goalpost, then against the right, a little superstition he'd picked up along the way. Making sure he had his feet set right as he got into position, he hunched over and scooted backwards into the goal.

He didn't quite fill the goalmouth as much as the other NHL goalies did. He wasn't over six feet tall, he didn't weigh over two hundred pounds - not even close, even with his padding on. It was a fact that had been rubbed in his face far too often; it had even cost him a scholarship to Penn State.

Being told he was too small to be of any use, that he'd never make it into the big leagues with his size, had hurt a hell of a lot. In one moment, his dreams of going to college and pursuing a career in hockey had been dashed. But it hadn't taken away from his love for the game, and he was glad for it.

Right here, right now, was his chance to prove everyone wrong. The scouts, the coaches, everyone who had ever doubted him. It was his time to shine, and he was damned if he wasn't going to give it his all.

He stole a last glance at the clock. The one on the jumbotron told him he'd have to keep it together for the next three minutes and twenty seconds of game time. He watched the players get into position for the faceoff, heard the music blaring all around him, the crowd cheering so loudly he could _feel_ it, and then everything went quiet when the puck dropped.

The Furies had taken possession of the puck and had the Gryphons pinned in their zone. Hunching low, he watched, he waited, tuning everything out so he could focus on the puck.

On the other side of the ice, Kit Gardner whiffed a pass, and before he'd realized it, the Gryphons had stolen the puck, storming up the ice and leaving Torque and Beckendorf to race to Nico's defense.

 _Save it. Prove everyone wrong._

He was ready. Pushing himself out of the goal a little, he met them head on. A pass to the player on his left, who wound up a shot. In a split second, Nico dropped to his knees and into the butterfly position, spreading his legs out to the side. His leg pads closed off the goal at ice level.

Too late, Nico realized that the puck came at him at too high an angle. He lifted his glove, but was powerless to stop it from sailing straight into the goal, right over his shoulder.

The light in the back of the goal lit up, casting a red glow on the ice under Nico's feet, and the crowd roared, an angry wall of sound crashing over Nico, and he knew it was over. When he looked up, he caught the eyes of the player who'd scored; smirking at Nico before his teammates hugged him, blocking him from Nico's view.

He shook his head, digging behind him to grab the puck before getting up and turning away from the celebrating Gryphons to his right. So much for proving he could do it, that he was worth more than the beer leaguer he was.

He put his mask up and grabbed for his water bottle, taking a long drink. It wouldn't do him any good to hold a pity party for himself now, not in the middle of a game. Still, he'd already blown the one shot he'd ever get.

Before his thoughts got the better of him, Grace came to a stop next to the goal, a serious expression on his face.

Grace's icy stare bored into Nico, and he could feel the disappointment. He resisted the urge to whack his stick against the ice in anger, if only because sticks were expensive, and he didn't have the money for a new one.

"Don't beat yourself up, okay? You're amateur, and it's only normal you have trouble at this level. Keep your head in the game. Track the puck, we'll handle the rest."

He clenched his jaw at Grace's words. The last thing he needed right now was a reminder that he wasn't on the same level as the rest of the guys on the ice, least of all from someone who was supposed to be on his side.

A part of him wanted to say "Fuck it", to skate off and get dressed, to have the first taxi he could find drop him off at home, but the team depended on him, and he was damned if he was going to let them down. It didn't matter if the Furies weren't Chuck and Mike and Jimmy. It didn't matter if they got paid millions and played for the Stanley Cup, instead of which team had to cover the bar tab later that night.

He wasn't going down without a fight. It wasn't over yet. Maybe he had let in a goal, maybe one of his old coaches was watching the game thinking _I was right to keep di Angelo off my team_ , but this wasn't where his night ended. It couldn't, and it wouldn't.

Without replying, Nico pulled his mask back over his face and got back into position, watching as Grace tapped his stick on the ice in front of him twice and skated off.

The game was tied at two, and they were still in the first period. If the team kept playing as offensively as they'd done before Nico had entered the game, they could win this.

He'd gotten his first taste of an NHL game, had experienced firsthand how much faster, more agile, and more skilled the players were. He just needed to adjust his game accordingly.

His strength had always been his ability to focus, his ability to track the puck no matter where it went, and his razor-sharp reflexes. Where some goalies were able to keep the puck out of the goal by brute force using their sheer size and bulk, Nico had to be more creative, had to be two steps ahead of any player looking to score on him. There was an advantage to being smaller than the average goalie. With Nico's smaller build came speed and agility, something he used to his benefit.

He was raring to go, refusing to become the laughing stock of the game and the reason for the Furies losing the game. He wanted to make Grace eat his words.

The whistle sounded again, the Gryphons winning the faceoff and storming up the ice again. Nico took a deep breath and let them come. The next time the Gryphons worked around the defense and took a shot at him, he caught the puck in his glove.

Stepping into the locker room was nerve wracking. All the players had gone to their stalls, busy hanging their jerseys on hangers to let them dry.

It was a little awe-inspiring. He was in a room with eighteen NHL players, elites among hockey players. He felt like a bit of a fraud; most of the guys around him had grown up playing hockey, had dedicated themselves to the sport at an early age before reaching the highest level, and right now it was painfully clear he didn't belong.

He sat down in Ahlstrom's stall, already cleared out and empty, and looked around. The rest of the guys were enjoying their downtime, sitting in their stalls and talking loudly in groups. Nico caught bits and pieces of various conversations, but he kept to himself.

When Coach Hedge came in and took up a spot in the middle of the room, everyone went quiet.

"We're tied, but we can take these bastards," Hedge barked out. "I don't want to see _anyone_ in the penalty box in the next forty minutes." He punctuated his statement with a hard look across the room, some of the players smiling sheepishly - Nico couldn't quite put names to their faces but he assumed they were the guys responsible for most of the penalties this season.

"And Yang? Try not to push people into our goalie again. Ahlie got a dislocated shoulder, so he's not coming back." He nodded towards Nico. "Kid there's all we got tonight. Play nice, and you know the drill: anyone with scrapes or bumps or broken limbs, go see Will. See you in ten minutes."

After Hedge left the room, all eyes focused on him. Nico felt awkward under the weight of their combined gazes. He lifted his head and tried for a smile. "Hi."

Most of the guys returned his greeting; some with a smile, some with a neutral look on their faces, and Yang with a sneer.

He was tapped on the knee with a stick by the guy in the stall next to him.

"Di Angelo, huh?" The guy dropped his eyes from the jersey behind Nico to make eye contact. "Sounds Italian. You Italian?"

Before he could shake his head, the guy powered through, pointing his thumb at his chest. "Cecil Markowitz, but they call me Marky around here. Bad luck on that goal, man. But hey, two more periods to go, right? Gotta look at the bright side of things."

Nico knew Markowitz. As the Pegasi's rivals, Nico was more familiar with the Furies roster than he was with the rosters of pretty much all the other teams. The guy was a pure goal scorer, and routinely got under the Pegasi's skin. Like Nico, he was on the smaller side but made up for it with speed and agility.

It was weird sitting here and having a conversation with him. Nico had cursed him many times over from the comfort of his couch, especially when he scored, but he was a pretty decent guy in person, even if he talked as fast as he skated.

He'd been introduced to a few more players by the time Anderson came to get them for the second period. He stood up, pulled his jersey back on and followed the players out of the locker room.

In the tunnel, he found Grace and Zhang, leaning on their sticks and talking strategy.

"Hey kid," Grace said, waving him over. "C'mere for a sec."

Nico walked over, clutching his mask underneath his arm. As intimidating as it had been to be in the locker room, standing in front of Grace and Zhang was even more so. The both of them were huge, well over six feet and then some. Zhang probably had a whole foot on him.

They were good, too. The two of them had been amazing together from the start. It was probably in a large part due to Zhang taking Grace under his wing that Grace was now considered one of the best young defensemen in the league. Nico felt insignificant, being surrounded by this much talent.

Grace smiled. "You ready to get out there and win us a game?"

Nico resisted the urge to talk himself down. The last thing he needed was to get inside his own head right now. On the ice, he had no greater enemy than himself. If he lost his focus, he might as well get off the ice and leave the net wide open.

It was hard not to, especially in the company he was currently keeping.

"Hey," Grace said, clapping a gloved hand on his shoulder. "It might be different from what you're used to, but it's just another game."

"Sorry," Nico said, smiling sheepishly. "Kinda lost my head there."

Grace's earlier words were still buzzing around in his skull, but he was right. It was just another game. He needed to stop letting himself be intimidated by the NHL, and do what he did best.

He put his mask on the top of his head, took a deep breath and nodded.

"I'm ready."

The Gryphons hit the ground running in the second period, leaving the Furies to try and catch up with them. For the first ten minutes, it felt like the Gryphons had an extra player on the ice; they were fast and calculating, passing to each other so quickly it was hard for Nico to track the puck.

Nico came close to giving up another goal, and another, and another, but he managed to save every shot fired at him so far. He was sure he'd pay the price for it after a game, as he could already feel his arms bruising up where his padding was thinnest. The guys in the NHL had a much harder shot than the guys in his league.

It was exhilarating, though, playing his heart out and being able to truly give it his all, being tested the way he seldomly was in his amateur games. His muscles burned with the strain every time he shot out of his goal to make a save, only to curl right back up and try to cover the puck to buy himself precious seconds of rest before another face-off.

His true test came when twelve minutes into the second period Michael Yew was sent to the penalty box after hooking Damien White to the ice with his stick. It had felt like they were down a man for much of the second period, and now it was going to be a fact. The defense was barely keeping up as things were, and now they were going to go on the penalty kill for two minutes.

As soon as the puck dropped, open season was declared on the Furies goal. A Gryphon defenseman one-timed the puck at him, and he caught it in the middle of the chest, right on the stylized 'F' that made up the Furies logo. It hurt like all hell, and it took all he had not to recoil backwards and accidentally take the puck into the goal with him.

The puck ricocheted off him, and he was too late to cover it up. He whipped his head from side to side, trying to see where it went. From the corner of his eye, he spotted it, on the stick of Damien White, coming up from behind the goal on his other side. He pushed off and slid to the other side of the goal, slamming his skate up against the goalpost and preventing White from scoring on a wrap-around. He couldn't resist flashing White a grin after making the save.

The penalty kill seemed to last forever, an endless barrage of shots to catch and deflect, but after two long minutes of play, Yew came out of the box just as Zhang cleared the puck. With all the Gryphons near the Furies' goal, Yew was able to skate up to the Gryphon goal and take his time for a wristshot, sending it cleanly past their goalie.

The stadium erupted into cheers, and with the Furies up by a goal, Nico could breathe a little easier.

The rest of the period flew by, the Furies having gained a second offensive wind by Yew's goal, coming close to scoring on two other attempts, but when the horn sounded to signal the end of the second period, the score was still 3-2.

Nico was drained as he made his way over to the bench. His lungs were burning, and he was sweaty in places he didn't even know could sweat.

When he got to the dressing room, he hung his jersey back on the hanger in his stall, hoping it'd dry out some before the next period started, and sat down. He loosened his chest protector a little and moved his arms, trying to work some of the soreness out of his muscles.

"Good period, kid. Keep that up."

Nico looked up, but Coach Hedge had already turned his back to him and was addressing the rest of the team. "Yew, you saved the whole team a bag skate by scoring after getting out of the box. I said no more penalties and I meant it. The next one of you chuckleheads to get a penalty will earn you all two extra hours of practice tomorrow. Do I make myself clear?"

A few of the players started to groan, and Hedge held up his hand. "Make that three hours. _No_ penalties, remember it. We have a chance to win this, and I expect you to take it with both hands. _There is no excuse._ " He stuck around until the players had nodded their assent, then left the room.

Nico closed his eyes, taking deep and steady breaths in order to try and maintain his focus. Intermission was a huge distraction, with all the chatter going on in the locker room.

He needed the downtime; he was pretty sure he wouldn't be able to last if he had to play a full sixty minutes without getting the chance to take a breather, but it broke his momentum. Intermission was a necessary evil, which was why he chose to mostly keep to himself in the locker room - if he managed to keep it together, it would benefit his game, and by extension, the whole team.

When he opened his eyes again, Grace was sitting in Markowitz' stall, a cool look on his face.

"We're going to win this game," he said to no one in particular. He wasn't even looking at Nico.

Nico would have thought Grace was being cocky, if there had been any bravado in the way Grace had spoken. No, he was calm and collected, and Nico could tell he truly believed they were going to win.

Grace's cool confidence was awe-inspiring. Nico had no trouble believing that it was a major reason why Grace had been named captain. Just sitting there, looking at Grace and the utter lack of tension in his frame, the way he seemed cool headed and in charge, the way not even Grace's eyes betrayed him, made Nico believe it too. If anything, it made him want to follow Grace into battle and give it his all to make sure they'd win.

He wondered how Grace kept it together, though. The Furies were one of the worst teams in the league, their losses outnumbering their wins easily.

Nico understood losing. Losing games wasn't easy, even in the beer leagues, where games were played for the honor of winning, and a case of beer. In the NHL, the stakes were much higher. Every player wanted the storied Stanley Cup, the highest prize in professional hockey.

For the Furies, their chances of winning a cup, or even making it to the playoffs had been thrown out the window early in the season, after racking up too many losses for it to become feasible. It had to be rough, playing fifty more games, knowing your ultimate goal is already unreachable.

With just that simple phrase, Nico's respect for Grace had grown immensely. He turned to face Grace, and smiled. "We're gonna win it."

Grace nodded and flashed Nico a small smile of his own. "Yeah," he said, getting up and heading out of the locker room.

The third period was more of the same, the big difference being that Nico was struggling to keep up. He loved the speed of the game, and the way it took everything he had and still wanted more, but jumping in at this level was maybe a little more than he could chew.

He refused to give up, though. He'd already given up one goal in the first period, and he wasn't going to be the reason for a loss. He'd fade from public memory soon enough, but he didn't want to be the guy who lost his first and only NHL game.

As the clock ticked on, it was getting harder to stay focused, the physical and mental exhaustion taking its toll. He started fumbling the puck instead of keeping it contained, the puck rebounding off him and back into play more often than it should, only creating more and more opportunities for the Gryphons to score.

Midway through the third, the play was whistled dead and a TV-timeout was called. After dumping his bottle of water on his face, he skated to the bench to have it refilled.

Grace was waiting for him, his face red with exertion. "Tired, huh?"

"Yeah. Kinda dead on my feet right now." Nico pulled his mask off and took the towel Grace handed to him, drying his face and hair. When he hung the towel over the boarding and looked back up, Grace cracked something in his hand and waved it under Nico's nose.

The smell hit him like a fist to the face. Instantly, he recoiled, his head jerking back to get away from it. His nose felt like it was burning.

"What the _fuck_?!"

Grace laughed, and Nico could hear more laughter coming from the bench. It took every bit of restraint not to punch Grace in the stomach. "Smelling salts?!"

"Smelling salts," Grace said calmly, holding up a small cracked tube. "Wakes you right up, doesn't it?"

Nico's eyes were watering, and he quickly looked up and blinked it away, taking deep breaths to clear his nose of that awful smell. "Fuck, that almost hurts." He shook his head and leveled Grace with his best _I'm going to kill_ you stare. "I hate you."

He'd never tried smelling salts before - he'd never needed to, always making sure to show up well-rested on game days. One of his teammates in the amateur league had brought a box to practice one day, but after seeing the faces of everyone who'd tried, Nico had decided he wasn't going near them.

"But it helped, right?" Grace almost looked smug. The bastard was enjoying this.

Nico sighed and put his mask on his head, glaring up at Grace from underneath the neck guard resting on his forehead. "Yes," he grumbled. It had been a shock to his system, and while it'd been awful, he felt like someone had hit the reset button on his exhaustion.

"Good," Grace said, his obnoxious grin disappearing. "Now hang in there. Just ten more minutes on the clock."

Nine minutes and thirteen seconds left. Five hundred and fifty-three seconds until the game would be decided.

The game only got more intense as the clock winded down. The Gryphons were in it to win it, but the frustration in their game was evident. Their passing got more and more sloppy, the body-checks more vicious, and the shots fired at Nico a little harder.

Nico had them right where he wanted them. Frustrated players made for lousy shots; they were less accurate in their shooting, and the finesse that helped score goals was dwindling by the second. It didn't make things easier for Nico; even though the shots were less accurate, it didn't make them hurt any less when he had to stop them with his body.

He was thankful for Grace and Zhang, providing excellent cover and blocking shots with their bodies. As the game entered the final stretch, the both of them seemed a permanent fixture on the ice in front of Nico.

Victory was so close they could taste it, but one split second could still change the game. One wrong move and they could find themselves on the penalty kill again. One missed pass and the Gryphons would be in front of Nico before he could blink. One goal was all the Gryphons needed to tie the game back up and take the game to overtime.

Nico's heart lifted when, with three minutes to spare, Markowitz broke away from the Gryphons, Fletcher in his wake and no defensemen in front of them. Markowitz passed to Fletcher, who didn't wait to accept the puck before shooting it, his one-timer bouncing off the post and back into play.

The crowd's loud cheering in anticipation of a goal quickly died down, and with it, Nico's excitement.

The worst was yet to come, and with two minutes and five seconds to go, the Gryphons pulled their goaltender, leaving their goal wide open in favour of an extra skater on the ice. They were going on the attack, six against five. Nico braced himself. Whatever happened, he had to keep the Gryphons off the scoreboard.

The Furies did everything they could to help him. They seemed to have found an extra gear, throwing themselves in front of shots to block them with their bodies, and checking players off the puck. Anything to keep the puck from getting too close to the goal.

Nico saved the few shots that did make it through, turning them away, though his arms felt like lead. He could barely see in front of him with two Gryphons trying to block his view, and had to trust the rest of the team to make sure he wouldn't have to do the impossible.

It was all rewarded when, with forty-five seconds to spare, Damien White saw a clean opening and took a shot at him. Nico saw him take the shot, and raised his glove, the shot grazing against his arm and bouncing back into play. It hurt like hell, but Zhang got the puck away from him and passed it to center ice.

Ellis Wakefield had been waiting, checking the Gryphon defenseman off to the side and breaking away with the puck. The Gryphons had gambled wrong when they'd pulled their goaltender. Wakefield lined up a shot and sent the puck sliding cleanly into the empty net.

The crowd erupted, the goal horn blaring three times, the sound surging through Nico's bones. He lifted his stick to the crowd and screamed, "Yes!".

As the goal song played, Nico couldn't keep the grin off his face. Thirty-nine seconds left on the clock. It'd take a miracle for the Gryphons to win the game, and by the dejected looks on the players' faces, they knew it.

The goal, the thrill of having victory in close reach sent adrenalin coursing through Nico's body. He couldn't stop smiling, even when the puck dropped again for the last time. All the fight had gone out of the Gryphons, and though they made a valiant last push, they didn't even come close to scoring on Nico.

Nico looked up at the jumbotron, seeing the final seconds tick away.

 _Three...Two...One..._

He'd done it. No, _they'd_ done it.

The crowd was on their feet, cheering louder than Nico had heard them cheer all night. The goal horn blasted a few more times to declare a victory, and before he knew it, he was almost barreled into by the Furies.

They swarmed him with grins on their faces, whooping noisily. He was soon joined by the players who'd been on the bench until the game had ended. One by one, they clapped his shoulder and bumped their helmets against Nico's mask.

"Thanks, man. You really came through for us," Markowitz said, pulling Nico into a one-armed hug before skating off.

When he looked up, there was one player left. Nico tried not to be embarrassed by how far Grace had to lean down to bump helmets with him.

"I told you we'd win," Grace said as he drew back. He was grinning like an idiot, and Nico couldn't help but grin back, sliding his mask up his head. He'd won an NHL game, he was allowed to be proud of himself.

He'd never thought he'd get the call to be the Furies' emergency goaltender. He'd never thought he'd actually play in the game, and he sure as hell had never thought he'd end up winning a game.

As they skated to the bench, Grace raised his stick to the crowd, and Nico did the same. The cheers only got louder. Nico drank it all in. This was one night he was never going to forget.

 **Leave me a review, please!**


	3. The Deal

_**24/7 Flyers/Rangers: Road To The Winter Classic**_ _  
_ _ **HBO**_

 _ **Episode 1**_

 _"It is a gradual process; taking hold not over weeks and months, but years, decades, and entire lives. The game engraves its way onto the body, envelops itself around the soul, insistently, excruciatingly, completely. Hockey becomes them."_

Before they got to the locker room, Grace stopped him with a hand to his shoulder. "Hey," he said. "You were great tonight. I'm impressed."

Nico wanted to snipe at Grace for saying that stuff about the NHL being above his level, but swallowed his words - he wasn't about to ruin the celebratory mood. "Thanks," he said instead, cracking a tiny smile. Despite having been a dick earlier, Jason Grace - _a professional hockey player_ \- had complimented him on his playing, and it felt _great_.

"We only have a little time to get showered and dressed before the press shows up, and they're definitely going to want a piece of you tonight. Think you're up for it?"

Shit. He hadn't thought about those - post-game press moments, where members of the media would be allowed into the locker room to ask the players questions about the game. He'd seen a million of them on TV, and he hadn't thought he'd ever be a part of one. He wasn't particularly interested, but Grace was right, an amateur playing in - and winning - an NHL game was more interesting than the typical " _I thought we gave it our all and that's why we came out on top"_ statements. There was no way he was getting out from under this one.

"Not really, but I guess I don't have a choice, right?"

The smile he'd flashed Grace must not have been all that convincing; Grace chuckled and nudged him with his elbow. "Just stick with me, and we'll get you through it."

When Grace opened the door to the locker room, Nico was met with a celebration for the ages. The players were in various states of undress and howling along with what must have been the Furies' locker room victory song - a terrible hip-hop song Nico'd never heard before.

The second the rest of the guys spotted him, he was pulled into the celebration. Sweaty arms were swung over his shoulders as Markowitz took his mask and he was danced over to his stall. His feet barely hit the ground on the way there, and he was pretty sure his ears would be ringing for a while, but he couldn't stop grinning.

He loved the amateur league celebrations; hugs and a night of getting drunk for free, but this felt better. Wherever he looked he saw smiling faces. Players were doing silly dances, laughing like they'd just made it through the trenches alive. Nico loved it. It was clear from the lighthearted happiness in the room that these guys lived and breathed the game, being happy with their victory for reasons other than not having to pay their bar tab. No, these guys were celebrating because they'd set themselves a goal and they'd reached it after giving it their all. It was the infectious kind of happiness that came from relief, sweeping you along for the ride whether you wanted to or not.

"And tonight-" Markowitz barked out after the victory song had ended, silencing the room and turning all eyes on him, "the wings go to…" He pointed at Grace, who stood at the other side of the locker room holding up a baseball cap with two fluffy orange wings sticking out from the sides. He grinned and walked over to Nico, bowing down and holding it out in front of him.

"Tonight's MVP," Grace said, grinning as he looked up. "Well deserved."

Nico felt honored as he accepted the hat, though he hadn't realized team MVP honors came with a ridiculous costume prop, and a huge smile broke out across his face as the room filled with applause and whooping, a wolf whistle coming from his left.

"Go on," Markowitz said. "Put it on!"

A small part of him wondered whether he'd been named MVP because of his play, or because he was the guy who'd just happened to be there when the Furies won a game and would likely never set foot in the locker room again. He pushed the thought away. He could doubt himself all he wanted, but not tonight, not while he was in the middle of a celebration, wearing the dumbest hat he'd ever seen. He'd played the game, he'd won, and now he was going to enjoy it for as long as it lasted.

"Thanks, guys," he said, brushing his hair back before putting the cap on. When he lifted his head, he could feel the wings move. "How do I look?"

Laughter broke out across the room as the guys went back to undressing, the music blaring loudly again.

He joked around with the guys in the stalls closest to him, hummed along to the songs he knew, and even dared busting out some terrible dance moves, riding the adrenaline high for as long as he could.

After grabbing a quick shower, reality smacked him in the face.

When they got back to the room, their uniforms had been taken out of the stalls and replaced by their regular clothing. Every stall was home to a fancy, tailored suit that must've cost more than two months' rent for his shitty apartment, except for one - his.

Up until now he'd been riding the game's high, spurred on by the celebration and drunk on victory. He'd almost forgotten he wasn't a real part of the team, but when he looked at his stall, the ratty sweatpants and worn out hoodie, neatly folded up on the seat, the bubble burst.

He didn't belong to this team. He was a guest, only having been invited out of sheer necessity. He only had to look around the room, look at the Furies starting to dress to the nines, to know that he was out of place. Half the players had pocket squares sticking out of their suit jackets, while his t-shirt had an old pizza stain he hadn't been able to wash out.

The happiness turned to bitterness, all residual adrenaline gone, the soreness creeping back into his muscles. He was tired, and all he wanted to do was sleep for a week.

"You ready?"

Grace was standing beside him, dressed in a smart navy suit. The light blue dress shirt brought out his eyes, making them appear softer than they had looked under the harsh glare of the ice.

Nico felt like an idiot next to him. Besides the difference in clothing, he barely reached Grace's shoulder. It got even worse when Grace put the stupid winged hat back on his head.

"It's tradition," he said, grinning.

Nico wanted to glare at him and bite out an insult, but before he could, the doors to the locker room opened, and members of the media came pouring in.

The largest group settled around him and Grace, holding out audio recorders. A couple of reporters were holding up their phones, and he could see at least one person with a video camera.

The questions were loud, and there were so many of them that Nico could barely make out the words. He wondered how players could tell them apart - Was it something that only came with years of experience?

Grace put on a warm smile and pointed at one of the reporters, who then repeated his question.

"How do you feel after the win? Do you think losing both Harald and Ahlstrom had an impact?"

"Obviously it had an impact. Losing both of our goalies in a single night isn't a situation any team wants to be in. I've yet to find out how the two of them are doing but I'm sure I'll be seeing them in a little bit. But we overcame it and grabbed the win, and we had some great help from this guy right here," Grace said, throwing his arm around Nico's shoulder.

It was almost too casual. Grace didn't seem phased at all by the small army of reporters in front of him. Nico wondered how he did it. He'd never been the center of attention like this, and it was overwhelming.

"How was your first game in the NHL? Did you enjoy it? How does it feel to win?"

Grace gently nudged him, and Nico took a moment to think about it. "It was great," he said. "I liked it. Winning always feels good."

It was silent for a moment. Clearly, the reporters had expected a longer answer. "And uh… I'm pretty tired right now," he quickly added, a nervous chuckle bubbling up from his throat.

The reporters laughed and launched more questions at him, and he answered all of them as quickly as he could, hoping every question would be the last one. He wanted to limit the time he'd appear on TV looking ridiculous with the wings hat on, but there always seemed to be another question waiting as soon as he'd finished speaking.

When the reporters finally left the room, he was dead on his feet. It felt like an hour had passed with the press in front of him, but a look at the clock told him it had only been ten minutes. He was looking forward to going home and crawling into bed.

He finished gathering up his stuff and grabbed his phone from the stall, seeing he had no fewer than thirty new messages, and quickly shoved it in his pocket. He'd deal with those later.

"Alright, cupcakes," coach Hedge said, clapping his hands to get the players' attention. "Great win tonight, let's keep building off this one and beat the Spartans next game. Take the morning off tomorrow, and I'll see you back on the ice at two."

A few of the players exchanged fistbumps with each other and left the room, others stayed behind to finish dressing and talk about the game some more.

Seeing Hedge reminded Nico that Chuck might still be at the stadium. He dug his phone out of his pocket to send him a text, when he was interrupted.

"Hey, kid."

He looked up and saw Hedge pointing his finger at him.

"Come with me for a sec."

Nico pocketed his phone again, text unfinished, and followed Hedge out of the room. A couple of minutes later, they were deep in the bowels of the Argo Stadium, a maze of winding hallways and staircases.

After stopping for coffee, Coach led him into an office and closed the door behind them. He was greeted by a middle-aged man in a wheelchair.

"Nico di Angelo, is it?"

Nico nodded and shook the man's hand. He was feeling a little awkward for having no idea who this man was. Judging by his fancy office, he was a big deal.

"Chris Brunner, General Manager. Come," he said, gesturing to his desk and the two chairs in front of it, "sit."

Grace was already sitting down in one of the chairs, and when Nico took the other, Hedge leaned against the wall behind Brunner.

"That was some impressive playing tonight, Nico," Brunner said. "After Ahlstrom went down, I was sure we'd be looking at another loss."

Nico smiled, feeling the heat rise in his cheeks. From now on, he wasn't leaving the house without a three-piece suit, lest he get caught in a situation like this again, wearing nothing but the oldest and rattiest clothes he owned. GM Brunner, the guy in charge of the Furies' roster, actually complimented his playing. He wished he could frame this moment and hang it up in his living room.

"Thank you," he said quietly.

Coach tapped one of the handles on Brunner's wheelchair. "We just got the injury report. Ahlstrom is not going to be able to play for the rest of the season, which means I'm down a goalie." He paused, looking from Grace to Brunner before looking Nico in the eye. "I want you to fill that spot."

Nico had been politely nodding along to what Coach said, and he nodded again before the words sank in. "Wait- _Me_?!"

Coach barked out a hearty laugh, the kind came from the belly. "Yeah, kid. I see something in you. Heck, you just posted a near shutout against a top-ranked team."

Jason turned to face Nico. "Did you know you stopped thirty-two shots? That's a .969 save percentage."

Nico didn't. He hadn't been counting. He knew his numbers were good, but that was in the amateur leagues. Numbers had lost all meaning since he'd tried and failed to go pro.

"And you did it without a single game of NHL experience," Brunner added. "Usually, we'd call Valdez up from the American Hockey League, but I don't want to bring him into the NHL before he's ready. We've got a lot of money riding on his development."

"Twelve games left in the season," Coach said. "What do you think? Want to go pro?"

Nico wanted to pinch himself; this _had_ to be a dream. Brunner and Hedge were offering him everything he'd always wanted: A chance at recognition, a way for him to do the thing he loved most for a living, a way to stick it to his father. Instead, he reached up and ran a hand through his hair. His forehead felt clammy, or maybe it was his hands. He couldn't tell - the offer had hit him like a ton of bricks.

He desperately wanted to say yes. His whole body _ached_ for it. His dream was an arm's length away, and all he had to do was reach out and take it.

"Can I think about it?"

It was the right answer, no matter how difficult it was to get out of his mouth. He had a future to think about, and he couldn't throw everything away for a dream that could dissolve any minute, leaving him without a job and without an income.

By the looks of it, it hadn't been what either Brunner or Hedge had expected. Even Grace looked surprised at his answer, his brows furrowed.

"Of course," Brunner said, leaning back in his wheelchair. "But you have to understand that hockey is a business, like everything else. I'll give you the night to think, but I'll need an answer from you in the morning."

Nico nodded. "Thank you. I'll let you know first thing in the morning."

The next half-hour was filled with business talk. Brunner explained the contract he would get, detailed his salary, and explained what the team would expect from him. Hedge explained how often they'd practice, where the facilities were, how he ran the team and which value he thought Nico would add to the team. Jason talked briefly about the players and what kind of people they were, how he saw things as captain, and what he thought Nico could bring to the table.

By the time he'd shaken Brunner's hand and was led back into the hallway by Grace and Hedge, a folder full of information and a draft of his contract under his arm, he saw he'd missed three texts from Chuck. The first congratulating him on the win, the second asking where the hell he was, and the third saying he'd gone home, and that Nico had to take a taxi home.

He was still reeling from the offer, and his head was pounding because of the influx of information. All he wanted to do was go home, take a warm shower, and crawl into bed before he'd even think about making a decision.

"Really hope you'll join the team," Coach said. "I like the team we have now. Trading for a goalie this late in the season would be a waste, and I'd probably have to give up one of my key players for a decent one."

"I agree," Jason added. "We've worked hard all year to make sure all the pieces were in place. We're finally starting to play to our strengths, and it'd suck to break the team apart because of injuries."

Was that the reason they wanted him on their team? Because they didn't want to pull their team apart to trade for a goalie? Because they wanted to keep Valdez in the AHL to develop further? Was it even about _him_?

"I'll think about it," he said, and it was all he could say. He couldn't commit, not yet. He needed a warm meal, a clear head, and time to weigh the pros and cons.

"I guess I'll hear about it tomorrow," Coach said. "For now, go home. Good job today." He turned a corner and looked over his shoulder. "Grace, I'll see you at noon sharp."

"Yes, Coach," Grace said, before pushing the door to the locker room open.

The locker room was empty, the stalls all cleaned out, save for the bag hanging in Grace's stall. "You ready to go?" Grace asked, shouldering his bag.

Nico nodded, and picked up his hockey bag, which had been standing by the door, packed and ready, courtesy of Hudson. "More than ready. I don't think I've ever been this tired."

He followed Grace through the hallways again, this time coming out in a private section of the parking lot.

"Where's your car?" Grace asked, coming to a stop at a shiny black BMW.

Nico laughed. "I don't have one," he said. "I'll just take a bus home. There's a stop a couple blocks from my building."

"You're going to carry that giant bag around town? At this hour?" Grace shook his head and grabbed around in his bag. The car beeped and the trunk popped open when he came up with the car keys. "C'mon, I'll give you a ride."

"The smell's gonna be in your car forever," Nico said, jostling his hockey bag. "It's fine."

Grace shrugged. "Been meaning to get it detailed anyway. Come on, it's getting close to midnight. It'll be faster."

Nico couldn't beat that logic; being home sooner and not having to lug his heavy bag all the way to his apartment was a big plus. He nodded and lifted his bag into the trunk.

When he sat down in the passenger seat, Grace smiled at him. Nico noticed he was wearing glasses; stylish black ones that complemented his face. This Grace, the one in the suit and glasses, looked kinder than Captain Grace, all decked out in hockey gear.

"I need them to drive. Don't worry, I'm not that blind," Grace said, before starting the car and peeling out of the parking lot. "Where to?"

"Just keep following Broad Street north. I'll tell you when to turn," Nico said. "And… Thanks."

He wasn't sure what he was thanking Grace for; for the ride home; for putting his faith in him on the ice; for supporting the higher-ups when they'd offered him a deal. Maybe it was all three.

As Grace pulled onto Broad Street, Nico couldn't help but feel nervous. He had a big decision to make, one that could potentially alter the course of his life, for better or worse. If anything, he was terrified.

He just hoped he'd make the right choice.

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	4. The Decision

_**NHL Collective Bargaining Agreement. 39.330**_ _  
_ _ **Exhibit 1.**_

 _ **Standard Player's contract.**_

 _NATIONAL HOCKEY LEAGUE STANDARD PLAYER'S CONTRACT (2013 FORM) BETWEEN  
Philadelphia Furies, hereinafter called the "Club," a member of the National Hockey League, hereinafter called the "League"  
AND  
Nicolas di Angelo, hereinafter called the "Player"_

 _1\. The Club hereby employs the Player as a skilled hockey Player for the term of one League Year(s) commencing the later of July 1, 2016 or upon execution of this SPC and agrees, subject to the terms and conditions hereof, to pay the Player a salary of Five hundred and seventy-five thousand US Dollars ($575,000)._

 _If the Player is not in the employ of the Club for the whole period of the Club's NHL Regular Season Games, then he shall receive only part of such Paragraph 1 Salary in the ratio of the number of days of actual employment to the number of days of the NHL Regular Season._

Nico couldn't sleep. No matter how many times he rolled over and flipped his pillow to the cool side, sleep wouldn't catch him. Every time he closed his eyes, he'd be back in that chair in Brunner's office, getting offered the deal of a lifetime.

In the morning, his alarm would go off, and he would have to have a decision ready. Either he'd take Brunner's offer and quit his job, or he'd decline and go to work just like it was a normal day - though he doubted it could feel normal, knowing what he'd have turned down.

By all accounts, it should have been an easy decision. He should be jumping at the chance—and a few years ago, he would have. Unfortunately, things were a little more complicated now.

Ever since he'd left home, he'd been on his own. He had to fend for himself, trying to make ends meet and hopefully save some money to go back to college - on his own terms this time.

The timing was so unfortunate, too. Last week, he'd finally gotten some good news. He had heard he was on the fast-track of becoming assistant manager at the Target where he worked. It wasn't the best of jobs, or the most well-paying, but it was the best he could hope for without a college degree, and he didn't even mind the work so much.

He'd started at the bottom, taking the crappy shifts nobody wanted for shit pay, and after working his ass off and forging good relationships with the store manager and assistant managers, going so far as to make sure the district manager liked him, it had finally paid off. If he landed the position—and he was at the top of the shortlist—his pay would increase, and that meant being able to put more money into his college fund, as well as a little more room to breathe every month. If things went well, he'd finally be able to move out of his shithole apartment.

It had taken him two years of hard work, but he was finally getting somewhere, and now, he was forced to make a choice. He could choose his boyhood dream, his five minutes of fame, and couple thousand dollars for a handful of games, or he could choose financial stability, a steady job, and being able to pay his rent every month.

It should have been an easy choice. The hockey was a once in a lifetime opportunity, but how long would it last? He had no guarantee he'd be able to keep playing after the season ended next month, but in return it would earn him enough money to bridge the gap in between the season ending and finding another job, though that job would likely come with less money than what he was making now.

He did a sloppy version of the math. He'd be under contract for about a month, with twelve games left to play. There were taxes to take into consideration, money to be put in escrow, other costs. All in all, it would leave him with about $40,000 of his $575,000 contract. More than enough to keep paying his rent for the rest of the year and well beyond. More than enough to bridge the gap between hockey and finding a new job. More than enough to pay for college tuition. So why was he still hesitant?

He knew he was a good goalie, better than average. But what if better than average wasn't good enough? What if last night had been beginner's luck? What if he didn't manage to keep up his game? He wouldn't just let down the team, he'd be letting himself down as well.

He didn't know what to do. This choice was the hardest he'd ever had to make, and that included the choice to give up his life and leave home.

He tried to sleep. A clear and fresh mind would help him figure things out, but no matter what he did, he couldn't fall asleep. He tossed and turned, pulled the comforter over him only to kick it off a moment later, tried countless positions, but none of it worked. He wasn't getting any sleep tonight.

He crawled out of bed and went into the kitchen to make himself some coffee. He'd tried to keep any and all thoughts about hockey from his head in order to fall asleep, but his thoughts hadn't stopped buzzing in the back of his mind.

Could he really do it? Could he really throw his life as it was away for hockey? He'd done exactly that, years ago, and it had left him in a city he didn't know, without a home to return to, working at Target to try and keep his head above water. Why would this time be any different?

Hours later, he was still sitting at the table, his fourth cup of coffee cooling in front of him. Light was already filtering through the windows, and after going back and forth all night, Nico had finally made his decision. He'd made a list of pros and cons, and had spent hours weighing his options, but it wasn't until then that he realized it didn't matter what the most rational decision was. The question he had to ask himself was: _What did he want?_

The decision had been easy once he'd asked himself that. What was the point of living if he was going to make nothing but the most responsible decisions? What he wanted to do had to count for more than what was the wisest choice. He was still young, his dream had been handed to him on a silver platter, and he was going to take it, damn the consequences. If he had to start at the bottom of the ladder again after the NHL, so be it. He would do it with a smile on his face.

He grabbed his phone and dialed the number Brunner had written on top of the contract draft before he could change his mind. His heart raced a mile a minute as he waited for him to pick up.

" _Hello?_ "

"Mr Brunner, this is Nico di Angelo. I'm calling about your offer. I'd like to accept it."

* * *

The rest of the hour was filled with business talk. Brunner had told him he'd call back to set a time to finalize and sign his contract, and after that he'd called his manager at work to resign, which hadn't quite gone the way he'd thought.

He'd expected anger—especially since he'd only called in fifteen minutes before his shift started—but his manager's response had been mostly positive. Apparently, he'd caught the game last night, and after promising that Nico bring him some signed swag once he'd made it big, his manager had wished him the very best with his new career.

He felt pretty good about himself. From now on, he wouldn't be Nico di Angelo, Target employee. No, he'd be Nico di Angelo, professional hockey goalie. It didn't matter how long it would last—it would be the experience of a lifetime.

When Brunner called back, Nico was told he'd have to come to the Furies' practice facility in New Jersey, a 45-minute car ride away. His contract would be waiting for him, and all he'd have to do was sign to make the whole thing official.

* * *

Three hours and a short nap later, Nico had gathered every piece of hockey equipment he owned and had taken a series of buses to get to the practice rink. It had been a hellish two-hour journey, and if this was going to be one he'd have to make every day, he'd really have to invest in a car. So much for being financially responsible and saving his NHL money.

The facility looked like the type of rink where he and his teammates would play their beer-league games. It wasn't as flashy as the stadium, the only indication of this being the right rink was the Furies logo on the wall outside, and a merchandise shop and sports bar across the street.

When he came inside, dragging his hockey bag behind him, he found the team's equipment manager, Hudson, waiting for him, a smile on his face. "Welcome to the team, man," he said, shaking Nico's hand. "Just leave your gear with me and I'll get a stall and a locker set up for you."

"Thanks," Nico said, cracking a smile. The difference between the amateur leagues and the NHL was staggering. He didn't even need to drag his own bag around, and Hudson was just as friendly and helpful as he'd been last night. "Can you tell me where Mr. Brunner is?"

"He should be with Will. Down that hallway," he said, pointing off to the side. "Third door. If it's open, you can go in."

"Thanks again," Nico said, handing his gear to Hudson. He went down the hallway and, seeing the door was open, knocked on the doorframe and peered inside. Brunner was standing near a counter, the blond medic from the night before standing next to him.

"Nico, good to see you," Brunner said, beckoning him over. "This is Will Solace, team physician."

"Hey man," Solace said, smile wide and bright, walking over and clapping him on the shoulder. "Good to meet you, man. Welcome to the team. You were _the bomb_ last night."

"Thank you," Nico said, smiling back. Everyone was so welcoming. It felt like people genuinely wanted him to be there—a stark contrast from last night, when he'd gotten the urge that he was only getting the offer so they wouldn't have to bring Valdez up—and it only reaffirmed his belief that he'd made the right decision.

"Will here's going to check you over," Brunner said. "I'll have the papers ready for you to sign after practice." He turned to face Will. "Have him on the ice at three."

"I'll walk him there myself," Solace said, walking Brunner out and locking the door. He sat down behind his desk and gestured for Nico to take a chair. "You nervous?"

"A little," Nico said. It was a little weird, sitting here in this office across from the guy who was the team's doctor, even though he didn't look much older than he himself was.

"You don't have to be," Solace said, laughing. "It's just a physical. And I've been told I have warm hands." He held up his fingers and wiggled them.

Nico couldn't help but crack a smile. Solace seemed like an okay guy. Last night, he'd seemed serious and in control, dashing onto the ice after Ahlstrom had gone down, but now, the way he almost lounged in his chair, his speech casual, he was disarming.

"So here's how it's gonna work. I'm going to take your medical history, fill out some forms and more of that boring stuff. Then I'm going to draw some blood, and I'll give you a physical. Sound good?"

Nico nodded. Nothing he hadn't endured before.

Solace had been right. Filling out a bunch of forms and going over his medical history was boring. More than once, Nico found himself zoning out, staring at the photos lining the walls of Solace's office, and the row of bobbleheads on a filing cabinet in the corner. The office was full of knick-knacks, a personal touch added to what would have been a cold and sterile room without it.

His head snapped up when Solace laughed. "Yeah, I know. It bores me too. I didn't get into sports medicine to be a glorified secretary," he said. "Roll up your sleeve so I can draw some blood and we'll get started."

After drawing three phials of blood, Solace directed him to the corner of his office, sectioned off with a curtain. Nico stripped down to his boxers, neatly folding his clothes and putting them on a chair, before stepping back into the room. Solace was waiting for him, clipboard in hand.

"You ready?"

Nico nodded. "As ready as I'll ever be."

Despite having had a few of them in his life, having a physical exam was nerve wracking. The team obviously wanted their athletes in the best of shapes, and while Nico was in pretty good condition, he wasn't a walking underwear advertisement like most of the guys on the team were. He didn't really have any obvious muscle mass to speak of, no washboard abs, nothing.

What if it wasn't enough? What if he didn't meet a certain standard? He'd had various injuries in the past, what if one of them hadn't healed right—not up to NHL standards? It could ruin his career before it could even start. Maybe he should have taken some vacation time, instead of quitting his job before he'd even signed his contract with the team. God, he really hoped Solace wouldn't find anything.

He took a deep breath and stepped on the scales in the corner of the office, heart beating in his throat.

After the physical, he felt like a trained monkey. He'd spent a good portion of the past hour doing what Solace said. _Stand there, bend your knees, bend your arms, lean forward._ It had seemed like it would never end, and he breathed a huge sigh of relief when Solace told him to go put his clothes back on.

Solace had been great throughout the whole thing. He was professional and kind, cracking the occasional joke every now and then to break the tension. He'd made Nico feel comfortable and at ease, which had been an impressive feat, considering he hadn't been able to stop thinking about how stupid he'd been, giving up his job just like that—and he hadn't been lying when he'd said his hands were warm.

Nico sat down in the chair Will had gestured to, hands clammy with sweat. During the exam, Solace hadn't said a single word about his results, but now he looked all business, flipping through the pages on the clipboard.

"We'll have to wait for the bloodwork to come back," Solace said, taking a few notes, "but everything seems like it's in order."

Nico's shoulders drained of all tension, the knot in his stomach loosening.

Solace cracked a small smile. "Your bodyfat percentage is on the low side, and you're going to have to work on increasing your muscle mass and building your strength, but you're in good health."

"I've always been a skinny guy," Nico said, smiling sheepishly. "It's just my build, I guess."

"That's perfectly fine," Will said, tapping his pen on the desk. "But I'm going to tell Lacy, our nutritionist, that you'll be coming to see her. She'll set you up with a diet. Try to follow it. I don't want to see you in here because you've collapsed at practice, okay? This isn't everyday life. This is the NHL, and it's going to take a lot out of you. I don't know what you did before you landed this gig, but it's hours upon hours of rigorous exercise, a crazy travel schedule, and then the games on top of that."

Nico opened his mouth to speak, but Will cut him off.

"We're all here to help you, so don't give me that look, okay?" He leaned back in his chair, dropping the clipboard. "If your blood work is clean, I'll give you the okay to play games. It should come back in a few hours if I put a rush on it."

"Thank you," Nico said, cracking a smile.

"One more thing," Will said, leaning forward, the look on his face more serious than it had at any point since Nico had met him. "If you're on anything you shouldn't be, now would be the moment to tell me. If you're not honest with me, and those blood tests come back positive, you and I…" he said, gesturing between them, "we're going to have a problem."

"Do I _look_ like I'm on steroids?" Nico asked, raising an eyebrow and gesturing down his body.

Will barked out a laugh, loud and boisterous. "I guess you don't. I had to ask." He checked his watch. "You should get over to practice. Hedge will chew me out if I keep you in here any longer, and you won't be able to sign until the blood work gets back, anyway. I'll run up and tell Brunner." He got up and led Nico over to the door, where he shook his hand. "Listen, if there's ever anything, come see me. Whatever you say to me stays between us, unless I absolutely have to report it to the team."

"Thanks," Nico said again. "I'll remember that." It'd be nice to have a friend in the organization, someone he could trust. "I'll be seeing you."

"You betcha," Will said.

Walking into the locker room was surreal, maybe even more so than it had been last night. It was every bit as fancy as the one at the stadium, the stalls made of polished wood, a plush little seat for everyone instead of a giant bench everyone had to share. He'd expected a luxurious locker room at the stadium, but this one was perhaps nicer still.

He looked to his left and saw his own stall, his breath catching in his throat. His gear hung in the stall, a practice jersey neatly folded on a hanger, his skates on hooks to the sides. And most important of all, the thing that made it all real: A small plaque on the overhead shelf that read 35 - Di Angelo.

Last night had been like a dream, but this was real life. This was happening. This was his stall now, and nobody was going to take it away from him.

He smiled and sat down in his stall, taking the room in. There was an enormous TV-screen mounted on the wall in between the two rows of stalls, the Furies logo in the middle of the floor, and on the top of the walls, the words DISCIPLINE and EXCELLENCE were painted in bold black, ringed with orange. It was obvious what the team wanted from him, and he'd try his damnedest to deliver.

He took a few deep and steady breaths, before standing up and stripping off his clothes. Putting on his gear would take some time, and practice had already started, but he wouldn't rush. He wanted to step on that ice and give it his best, and he could only do that if he was strapped down in his gear as best he could. He couldn't afford to rush himself.

He put his skates on nice and tight, put his leg pads on, did a final check to make sure his padding was in place, and headed out to the ice, his helmet tucked under his arm. The air grew cooler, and he was met with the familiar sounds of skates on ice and sticks slapping against pucks.

A large door in the corner boards was open a crack, and Nico was about to step onto the ice there when he stopped. The players on the ice were doing drills, half of them wearing a white jersey, the rest a black one. They were playing a game with an open net, the white jerseys on defense, the black ones on offense.

It amazed Nico how _good_ these guys were. Even without a goalie, the black jerseys had a difficult time getting pucks to the net. Seeing them play from up close really made him have all the more respect for their skill—a lot of the nuance was lost on TV, or high up in the stands. A smile crept onto his face. From now on, these were his teammates, the guys he'd have to rely on to win games.

"Look who decided to join us," Hedge barked from further up the ice, a grin on his face. He skated over. "You're twenty minutes late to practice, cupcake."

Nico stood there, letting out a nervous chuckle as he tried to weather Hedge's glare.

"I'm just kidding. Welcome to the team." Hedge laughed, then blew his whistle. All the players stopped their drills and skated over to them.

"This here's di Angelo. You might recognize him from last night," Hedge said. "For those of you who haven't heard, he'll be with us for the rest of the season."

The players tapped their sticks on the ice, and Nico saw a few smiling faces. In the back stood Grace, standing tall and proud, raising his stick in salute.

"Hi," he said, holding up his glove in an awkward greeting. He felt a little awkward, standing there, not quite knowing what else to say. _Thanks for having me? It's so good to be here?_

He was saved by Hedge blowing his whistle again. "Back to what you were doing before. White, you're looking good but I need _great_. Black, where's all that skill gone? You look like a bunch of peewee players. Let's go!"

The players skated off, and Nico was left alone with Hedge. "Go warm up," Hedge said. "I'm going to have the guys take a bunch of shots at you later, see how you hold up."

Nico nodded, and started on his warmups. He skated around for a few moments, before sinking to the ice and trying to warm up his limbs.

He stared through the grating of his mask. On the blue line separating the two halves of the rink, eighteen players stood lined up, a bucket full of pucks dumped on the ice in front of them.

He took deep, slow breaths. Let them come, he thought, as three players broke away, passing one of the pucks between them at an incredible speed. They faked passes and did whatever they could to throw him off, but when Yew took the shot, Nico saw it coming.

He raised his glove and caught it, throwing it behind him only to raise his head and see the next trio coming, already halfway up the ice.

He had no idea how long he'd been in goal for, and he'd long since lost count of the amount of shots they'd taken at him, or how many he'd saved—counting hadn't been important, he'd needed all his focus to make saves. His limbs were burning, the practice having taken more out of him than ten of his beer league games put together.

They'd tested him, trying to see what he could do, how he'd hold up against shot after shot after shot. They hadn't held back, pushing him to his very limits. Every time he put the puck down, three other guys would be in front of him, and the next shot was never more than a few seconds away.

Hedge was standing off to the side, at the boards, talking to Brunner. When had Brunner gotten there? He'd been so focused on practice that he hadn't noticed a crowd had gathered.

When he got up, shaking his limbs out, he looked behind him in the goal. One, two, three… Seven pucks. He'd let in seven shots. He felt the pang of disappointment, before he caught the rest of the pucks he'd thrown beside the goal. There had to have been over fifty of them.

"Good job," Grace said, taking off his helmet and ruffling his hair after stopping beside him. "Only seven. And without D backing you up. That's impressive."

Nico took his helmet off and removed his hairclip, brushing his sweat-soaked hair away from his face before putting the clip back. Sweat was gushing down his face, and he gladly accepted the water bottle Grace was holding out for him. "That was crazy. Were you guys trying to kill me?"

Grace laughed. "It's like I told you on the drive home. The brass wants to know if last night was a fluke or not," he said, leaning on his stick. "It clearly wasn't. You're gonna do some great things here, I just know it."

"Thanks," Nico said, grateful for the vote of confidence from the team captain. "I'll try my best, if they ever let me off the bench."

"Oh, Hedge didn't tell you yet?"

"Didn't tell me what?"

Grace's expression turned serious. "Ahlie's out for the rest of the season, and even though Harry could play if he absolutely had to, he's a little banged up, and they want to keep him benched," he said. "The next game is all yours, my friend."

Nico hadn't expected that—his second game in the NHL, and he'd be the starter goalie. He'd known he'd get to play; there was no way Harald would be able to play twelve games in a row, but the starting position on his second night?

"They're not wasting any time throwing me to the wolves, huh," Nico said, smiling sheepishly.

"Yeah, no kidding," Grace said, slowly skating towards the boarding. "C'mon, we should go get showered. We're watching game footage the rest of the afternoon. Have to be prepared for Saturday."

Nico didn't want to ask, but at the risk of sounding like an idiot, he did so anyway. "What's happening on Saturday?"

"We're gonna lose on Saturday," a guy in a white jersey said as he skated by.

"Shut up, Bach," Grace snapped. "We can beat them. We've done it before."

"The last time was two years ago," Yew said, getting off the ice and putting his stick in the rack. "And that was when half their team was injured. We played the B-team, that's why we won."

"And we can do it again," Grace said, blocking the tunnel and turning around, gathering the rest of the players in front of him. "Look, we'll be fine. They aren't invincible. I don't care that they're at the top of the standings. _We can do this_. It's just another game."

Nico was at a total loss. He hadn't checked the schedule yet, so he didn't know what team they'd be playing on Saturday, but the team clearly wasn't happy with it. Great, he'd have all odds against him on his first game as a starter.

"So, uh, who are we playing?"

Grace turned around and smiled. "Hope you're ready for your first road trip, dude. Come Saturday, we'll be in Pittsburgh, playing the Pegasi."

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	5. The Pregame

_**NHL Collective Bargaining Agreement.**_ _  
_ _ **Exhibit 1.**_

 _ **Paragraph 5.**_

 _ **Form of Standard Club Rules.**_

 _Players are required to wear jackets, ties and dress pants to all Club games and while traveling to and from such games unless otherwise specified by the Head Coach or General Manager._

Nico couldn't relax. Not even in the incredibly comfortable chair on the chartered jet.

He was dead tired. Two days of gruelling practice had taken everything out of him, and the big game against Pittsburgh was looming on the horizon. Tomorrow, he'd play his first NHL game as the starting goaltender, against one of the best teams in the league. He felt the pressure on his shoulders, and it weighed him down.

He needed to do well. Failure was never an option, but tomorrow even less so. If there was ever a time to shine, tomorrow was it.

It was weird, playing against a team he'd been supporting for ages. He still remembered when the Pegasi had won the cup a few years ago, and how he'd screamed so loud in front of his TV that his neighbours had come to check up on him.

Next to him, Grace was watching a movie on his tablet—or, at least, that's what Nico had thought, right up until he'd glanced over and saw that it wasn't a movie but a Pegasi game.

It frankly amazed Nico just how much Grace put into hockey. He was deadly serious about it. Even when his teammates were joking around on the plane, reading books and watching movies, Grace was preparing for the game tomorrow. The past few days in the locker room, everyone had been shooting the shit while they'd been getting dressed, but not Grace. Grace had been quiet, and whenever he had spoken, he'd only talked about the game, or how practice had gone.

When Nico glanced over again, a knot began to form in his stomach. The Pegasi were good, so good it was almost scary. Their top line was so tuned in to one another, they didn't need to ask each other for the puck—they simply knew when to pass, and how. Goalies didn't stand a chance.

On Grace's screen, the Pegasi's number 27 scored a goal, a beautiful wrist shot, right through the goalie's five-hole. He made it look effortless, almost sexy, and Nico dreaded everything about him.

"You're going to have to watch out for him," Grace said, pulling out one of his earbuds. His eyes didn't leave the screen. "He's dangerous… You can never tell where he's going to shoot. He doesn't telegraph his moves."

Nico nodded, following 27 on the screen as he skated past the bench, smiling cockily. "I know. I've watched a few of their games," he said, voice quiet.

Did professional hockey players have a team they rooted for, other than their own? Could he safely admit he was—had been—a huge Pegasi fan? Was that a smart thing to do, considering he was now a part of the team that was the other half of the biggest rivalry in hockey?

"That's good," Grace said, much to Nico's relief. "That means you're not going in blind."

He supposed Grace had a point there. He'd watched more than enough games to know that the Pegasi's danger came from their unpredictability, their fast play, and their hockey smarts. He knew he shouldn't let his guard down, not even for a second. There was no safety when it came to the Pegasi.

On Grace's screen, number 27 scored again. Hats rained down on the ice as 27 slid down the ice on his knees in celebration.

Nico's stomach churned. Grace was right, he really needed to watch out for that one. He completely understood the gloomy atmosphere that had hung over the locker room like a thick blanket for the past few days every time someone had so much as mentioned the Pegasi. It was hard to muster up any positivity when the Pegasi had a clear advantage over them—their star winger, unpredictable, and as fast as raging water.

Number 27, Percy Jackson.

* * *

A bus was waiting for them on the tarmac. All Nico had to do was move from the plane to the bus, and the rest was taken care of. He didn't have to drag his bag over to the bus, or do any of the things he'd usually have to do himself. It was rather strange, but he could definitely get used to not having to lug a heavy, smelly bag everywhere.

After leaving for the hotel, he learned that Grace had volunteered to be his roommate on the road. He didn't quite understand that one, since anyone who wasn't a rookie was entitled to a room of their own, but he wasn't going to complain. He supposed Grace considered showing him the ropes was part of his duties as captain. Besides, there were only a few rookies on the team, and one of them was Markowitz, and he was pretty sure he wouldn't survive if he had to spend nights cooped up with him; the guy never stopped talking.

Nico's eyes nearly fell out of his head when they got to the hotel. It was fancy. It had been a long time since Nico had lived in comfort, so the upgrade was definitely nice. The room wasn't as fancy as he thought it was going to be when they'd walked through the expensively decorated lobby and hallways—just a room with two double beds and a bathroom - but it was still a hell of a lot nicer than his loft full of thrift store furniture back home.

Grace proved to be a seasoned veteran when it came to traveling. After getting to their room, he opened his suitcase and went to the closet to hang up both his suits. He brought his toiletries to the bathroom, put his glasses on the nightstand, like he'd done it a thousand times before. He probably had.

Nico felt a little awkward. He'd packed his nicest jeans, a wrinkled button-up that had passed the sniff test he'd found in the back of his closet, and a pair of sneakers, which he left in his bag, too embarrassed to put them next to Jason's expensive leather shoes. Somewhere in there was his toothbrush, and he was banking on the hotel providing soap and shampoo. Still, he felt vastly underprepared. Grace was going to give him an inferiority complex.

"Where's your suit?" Grace asked, putting his suitcase at the foot of the bed. "You should hang it up before it gets wrinkled and Brunner gives you hell for it."

Nico wrung his hands, smiling sheepishly. "I don't have one."

"Well, then I guess we're going shopping," Grace said, grabbing his coat. "You need a suit."

"I _need_ one?"

Grace nodded. "Didn't read the paperwork, did you? It's in the team regs. We wear a suit to and from the game. No exceptions."

The awkwardness was palpable. Grace must have thought him an idiot, because he didn't look too impressed. Yeah, he'd been given a stack of paperwork, which he'd used as a coaster for his beer after getting home from his first practice. He'd skimmed through it, but apparently he'd missed the part about the suits not being optional.

"Okay," he said quietly, getting up and grabbing his wallet and his coat. He didn't particularly want to go shopping, didn't want to spend money, didn't want Grace to find out that his current bank balance was just shy of two hundred dollars. At least he should be able to get a suit for less than that—he'd just have to watch what he ate for the rest of the month, or until his first paycheck came in.

They took a cab, and all of Nico's hopes of having money left for food faded when it stopped in front of a far too fancy-looking store; one of those places that looked like you had to pay to even set foot inside.

He got nervous. There was no way he was able to afford anything here. Even a shirt would probably bankrupt him. There had been a time when he'd moved through shops like these with ease, laughing and chasing after his sister while his father got a suit measured, but he'd left that life behind. Now, he was quietly hoping that the ground would swallow him up before his card got declined.

They were greeted by a sharply dressed man, who introduced himself as the head stylist, and no less than fifteen minutes later, Nico was on top of a small platform, with the stylist measuring his entire body.

He'd expected Grace to sit down in a nearby chair and pull out his phone or something, but he was hovering around the stylist, making suggestions, and looking through the shirts on the racks, occasionally bringing them out for Nico to look at.

"You represent the team, so you need to look well," he said, smiling. Nico wanted to rip the smile off his face. It was easy for Grace to look great. He could show up to a game wearing a burlap sack and he'd probably still look better than the rest of the team.

After having his measurements taken, they browsed the racks together for a jacket and dress pants. Nico didn't even bother looking at the ones with fancy or weird patterns on them. If he needed to wear a suit, fine, but he wasn't going out there looking like a fashion victim. He'd set his eyes on a simple, black suit, and was pulling it off the rack when Grace stopped him.

"It's a hockey game, not a funeral," he said, holding up a navy blue jacket to Nico's chest. "I like this one."

"Oh, great, _navy_ ," Nico grumbled. "It matches yours. We can be twinsies, how fun."

Jason wasn't too impressed with his grumbling, simply putting the navy suit back and holding up a deep charcoal grey one. "This one," he said, and his tone implied he wasn't going to argue.

Nico caught a glimpse of the price tag, his stomach twisting into knots. Even without the alterations, the jacket alone cost twice what he had in the bank.

He sighed deeply. "Just put it back," he said quietly, not wanting the stylist to overhear. "It's not like I can even afford anything in here anyway. Last week, I was still working at Target. I don't have the money for this." He felt small admitting it, even though it was common knowledge. Nobody had given him shit for it, but he knew he wasn't able to keep up with the rest of the team. He didn't have a tablet to watch movies on the plane. He didn't have the latest model smartphone. He didn't have a fancy car—the team had provided a rental for him, but it was just a compact.

"I know that," Grace said, holding up the suit again. "Which is why I'm fronting you the money." When Nico opened his mouth to protest, he simply shook his head. "I don't want to hear it. Paychecks come in next week, so you can pay me back then."

"I—"

" _I don't want to hear it._ Coach is going to yell at you if you're not wearing a suit tomorrow," he said. "We're getting you one."

Nico nodded dumbly. There was no arguing with this guy. Grace wasn't going to take no for an answer, and he didn't want to make a scene in the store.

It took some time before they found a simple white shirt to go with his suit. Nico expected them to walk out of the store, but Jason had laughed and told him the suit would need alterations. The stylist promised them that the suit would be ready by morning, and delivered to his hotel before he'd need it.

"Now we just need shoes," Jason said, handing his credit card to the stylist, before pointing down to Nico's sneaker-clad feet. "Can't wear those under such a beautiful suit."

After buying a pair of black leather shoes that cost way too much, and a team dinner at the hotel, they went back to the room.

While Jason settled on the bed with a book, Nico decided he'd catch an early night. He'd need to be well-rested tomorrow, he'd need every ounce of strength for the game.

Stepping into the bathroom, he rolled his eyes. On one side of the sink, Jason had meticulously laid out his toiletries. While Nico had only brought his toothbrush and an empty tube of toothpaste that he was sure he'd be able to get enough out of to brush his teeth just one more time, Grace had come prepared. Toothbrush, toothpaste, mouthwash, razor, shaving cream. There was a bottle of expensive cologne—of course there was—and a case for his contacts. He had a small tube of skin cream, chapstick, and nail clippers. You'd think they'd be staying gone for weeks, instead of just two nights.

After quickly brushing his teeth, he crawled into bed. "What time do we get up tomorrow?" he asked.

Grace looked up from his book. "We have to be at the rink at ten, so I usually wake up at around seven."

"Seven? Really? That seems excessive."

"I like to hit the gym for an hour every morning," Jason said. "Want to come with?"

"Pass. I'm going to catch all the sleep I can."

"That's fine," he said, turning back to his book, though he looked up again a few seconds later. "You know you should probably come work out with us at some point. Team bonding, you know? If you need your sleep, that's fine, but you're going to hit a wall if you don't put in your exercise."

"Yeah…" Nico nodded and rolled over, pulling the sheets up. He was already worried enough he wouldn't be able to sleep—exercise would have to wait for another day.

* * *

Nico put his mask up and blew out a breath. The morning skate hadn't been super intense, but he was dead tired. His nerves had kept him up for most of the night, and when he'd finally fallen asleep, Grace's alarm had woken him up after what felt like only five minutes. He'd managed to catch another hour of sleep after that, but when Grace had come back from the gym, Nico had woken up again.

He was thankful Hedge had allowed him to skip answering questions for the media. He was already more than nervous enough, thank you very much.

When they finally piled into the bus to head back to the hotel, he had trouble staying awake, and if his exhaustion hadn't prevented it, he'd have jumped for joy when Grace told him they'd go for a nap as soon as they got to the hotel.

He finally felt rested by the time he woke up. He'd been so tired not even his nerves could have kept him awake, though they came back in full force the moment he sat up and rubbed his eyes.

When Grace woke up a short while later, Nico was still sitting on the edge of the bed, staring blankly ahead of him. Why did he think he could do this? He wasn't a professional and later he'd surely be exposed, in front of thousands of people, and even more watching at home. Hockey at this level wasn't just a game, it was a business, and he was nothing but an impostor. These games weren't for fun. The difference between a win and a loss wasn't getting a free beer at the bar or having to buy his own, it was about millions of dollars and a race for the sport's greatest prize.

"You okay, buddy?" Grace asked, stretching out.

Nico shook his head. "I can't do this," he said quietly. "I'm not like you. I'm just an amateur—"

"Hey," Grace said. "Look at me."

Nico didn't lift his head. He needed everything but an inspirational captainly pep talk right now.

"It's pregame jitters," Grace said. "We all have them."

Nico scoffed, but Grace got off the bed and kneeled in front of him. "Do you really think we all started out with confidence? You think we don't worry about not being good enough every time we step out onto that ice?" He shook his head. "I can't speak for the other guys, but I know _I_ do."

Nico caught Jason's eyes, bright, and blue, and full of sincerity.

"Why do you think the locker room has been doom and gloom for the last couple days? We're all worried. Yeah, even me, but don't tell that to the other guys." Grace smiled. "You're new. Nobody's expecting you to beat the best team in the league on your first game. And we're going to have your back. Before they get to you, they'll have to go through us first."

Nico nodded slowly. It made sense, but he found it difficult to believe that guys who had played hundreds of games would still be nervous. They _knew_ they were good, and had million dollar paychecks to show for it.

"Just try to have fun tonight," Grace said, getting to his feet. "Dr. Solace can help you with some breathing exercises. I've heard yoga helps, too. Yang and Fletch do it."

" _Yang_ does yoga? Sherman _I-will-knock-all-your-teeth-out_ Yang?"

Grace laughed. "That one. You're going to be fine. Now come on, put your suit on, or we're going to be late. You do not want Hedge to yell at you for being late."

Nico nodded slowly and opened the fancy bag that had gotten delivered to the hotel room while they'd been out for the morning skate.

A little while later, he buttoned his shirt up, standing in front of the mirror. He'd had to borrow Grace's spare belt (of course he'd bring a spare), and Grace had made him use some fancy-smelling wax to slick his hair back, but judging by Grace's smile, he looked decent.

He went to put his jacket on, but Grace stopped him. "I got a little something for you," he said, handing Nico a small, fancy bag from the shop they'd gotten the suit at the day before.

Nico opened it and found a deep red tie inside, and he smiled faintly. _A tie_. Of course he also had to wear a tie. At least it was a nice one. "Thanks," he muttered.

After putting the tie on—and letting Grace fix the knot—he put his jacket on and headed out of the room.

He followed Grace down the hallway to the elevator, and he couldn't help but feel a little more at ease. Million dollar business or not, hockey was a game. He'd managed fine so far just doing what he did, and having fun with it. There was no denying that the skill level was much higher in the NHL, but no matter what he'd do, he couldn't give it more than his all.

He felt better knowing that even hockey's greatest promises were still nervous. Grace seemed so calm and collected, so confident in his team, but he guessed it was part of being captain. Grace was supposed to be the rock, the one who took the team on his shoulders if their confidence wavered. None of that had really mattered in his beer league, but Nico was starting to understand the importance of that job at this level of play.

A few of the guys greeted them as they piled into an elevator, and Nico took a deep breath. In a few hours, he'd be on the ice, opposite the Pegasi, opposite Percy Jackson.

The odds were stacked against them, but he would try his damnedest to show them what he was made of.

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